It's not me, it's him

In the beginning, two years ago, we were so happy together. I always had his full attention, and he wanted my opinion on everything. We talked a lot back then. After a long day at work, I couldn’t wait to see him, and he was always overjoyed that I was home again. He loved everything I served him, just because it was served by me.

But as time went by, our relationship changed. Now, I know that’s natural and it’s supposed to be a good thing. Because you can’t be in love forever, it’s physically impossible. So, in time, the ‘crazy, madly in love’ feeling evolves into a deeper feeling. A feeling that’s more stable and doesn’t cloud your judgment as much. And so, as the butterflies have slowly faded away, I cannot turn my back on the problems any longer.

At first, he started to distance himself from me. He wouldn’t be as happy when I got home as he used to, and his happy banter had become rare. The food that I prepared didn’t seem to go down so well anymore. He just shoved it into his mouth without really tasting it. Like a forklift truck. Not a pretty sight.

I had hoped that things would improve again during the summer. Summer, the time of year that’s perfect for picnics and romantic outings. Being outside and doing things together. But he wouldn’t even sit outside in the garden with me anymore. Instead, he chose to go out on his own. Without me. For hours.

And now, come fall, things haven’t gotten worse, but they certainly haven’t improved either. He’s still gone half the time, without telling me a single thing. He still eats like a forklift truck and when he comes home, he just crashes on the couch or bed and ignores me. Oh, sure, we still cuddle every once in a while. When he’s in the mood. But it’s not half as often as it used to be.

I think he’s cheating on me. I’m almost certain he’s cheating on me. He doesn’t even really try to hide it. When his buddy comes by to pick him up, he’s out the door so fast, I only see a blur. And when he comes home, early in the morning (or really late at night, depending how you look at it), he smells like perfume and smoke. And I don’t wear perfume and I certainly don’t smoke.

I don’t get it. What am I doing wrong? Is she prettier than me? More fun? Does she serve better food? I really don’t know. All I know is he’s getting fatter and fatter while I see less and less of him (which sounds like a contradiction, but you know what I mean). He’s now at a point at which I am getting seriously concerned about his weight. 

But what can I do? I mean, how do you stop a food-addicted cat from going next door and (ch)eating, without taking away the freedom his cat flap offers him? If anybody knows, please tell me.

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